


Thwarting, Rescuing - It’s All Jargon

by Kizmet



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Can't Kill Kids, Crowley (Good Omens) likes kids, Episode: s01e03 Hard Times, Gen, Hurt Crowley (Good Omens), Nephilim, Noah's Ark, Worried Aziraphale (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-11
Updated: 2019-07-13
Packaged: 2020-06-26 12:54:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19768627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kizmet/pseuds/Kizmet
Summary: Crowley can’t walk away from the Mesopotamian kids:  Caught up in something so much bigger than anything they did, he can identify.Aziraphale wants to know that certain reports of his haven’t been misconstrued:  There were a whole range of behaviors in that Nephilim situation, only some of them were problematic.And after it was all over Noah planted a vineyard... And over indulged.  Crowley and Aziraphale both wondered (they had to start drinking somewhere, somewhen).





	1. Crowley

Crawly left as the rain began to fall. A few people were already panicking because of Noah’s little project, the timing and the sudden, niggling suspicion that, maybe, just maybe, he wasn’t as crazy as he seemed but it was far from the first rainfall. Crawly knew most wouldn’t start worrying until the second or third day and by then it would be too late. He knew they wouldn’t go quietly. They’d struggle. They’d bang on the sides of the Ark and plead for admittance. They’d run for higher ground. They’d climb trees. They’d hastily construct their own life rafts. He knew they’d cling to life with every last scrap of strength that they possessed because it’s what humans, what living things did when confronted with death. All living things. It’s, Crawly suspects, the reason why demons exist, why they didn’t all just die when they were Cast Out. 

Crawly had to leave before the panic truly set in, before the cries of the doomed became too strong a reminder of the lake of sulfur, of burning and cries for mercy that went unanswered. He called his wings into the material plane and took to the skies. He was trying to decide between Australia, China or the Americas when he saw a boy no more than eight or nine tending his sheep. The boy’s elders were probably down there among Noah’s hecklers, or they were the ones committing the sins that drove the Almighty to such a rage that she’d destroy her creation, or at least this, rather large, patch of it- Quite a bit more than Sodom or Gomorrah, enough to feel like the whole of creation to the poor bastards caught up in it. -But this boy, he was simply tending his sheep, minding his own business, dutifully fulfilling his responsibilities to his family. The boy’s going to drown too. Maybe the boy would have inevitably grown to inherit the evils that consume his elders. Maybe he’d already committed a few small transgressions, because why shouldn’t he when he sees everyone around him doing whatever selfishly pleased them? Maybe he mocked Noah and his family for their faithfulness. The boy might not be without sin and yet... Crawly can’t imagine that he’s done anything so terrible as to deserve to be _drowned_. He was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught up in something so much larger than himself and no one was going to save him. 

The boy has a bit of a camp, probably didn’t bring the sheep in every night but stayed out in the hills with them for days at a time, the high hills. Crawly imaged the boy surviving the early part of the deluge, seeing his relatives down in the city killed by the mudslides that will be coming soon, watching the water climb ever higher, days of watching the waters rise and hoping the rains will stop before the Flood finally takes him too. 

And before Crawly really thinks it through he’s swooping down and grabbing the terrified boy under the arms and hauling him aloft. It takes a bit of a miracle, or more correctly demonic mischief, to fly with a human passenger, to speed him across the seas and dump him in a safe place. Angels, and Demons, weren’t bound by the laws of physics but humans were. Crawly’s wings weren’t, technically, large enough to support his own weight let alone a passenger’s and he certainly shouldn’t have been able to fly as quickly as he did but Crawly didn’t ‘know’ that and so there was nothing to stop him from Willing it so. 

Crawly flew faster and faster, the rains had only been falling for a few minutes when he dropped that first boy off on the other side of the world and turned back. If anyone had asked him why he was going back, why he kept going back, over and over again, grabbing up every child he saw and spiriting them away from God’s Wrath, Crawly wouldn’t have had an answer but no one asked and so he kept going. Flitting back and forth across the globe, wings and heart aching, snatching children from trees and hill tops and out of the raging waters. He kept going as the land vanished beneath the waters. 

Crawly redoubled his efforts, loving those clever, determined humans more and more as he saw how many chose with their last breath to put their children on whatever they could find that floated while they slipped beneath the waves. He knew most of those parents had brought this on themselves, they were corrupt and wicked and it was probably more than slightly his fault- Although the more he saw of humans the more he wondered if he’d done anything more than hurry the inevitable along by pointing Eve’s inborn curiosity at that apple. -In spite of their wickedness, in the face of death, the cleverest, the most determined, repeatedly showed themselves to be parents first and foremost. But, unlike Noah, they hadn’t prepared. They didn’t have food or shelter to provide their children with; All they had was hope as they put them on crudely and rapidly built rafts, in baskets or a-top doors. As their time ran out Crawly forgot that he’d fallen, forgot that he was defying God’s Will and devoted himself wholly to answering the prayers of parents for their children’s survival. 

The prayers Crawly opened himself to lingered in his mind even as the children died. As the days wore on, when time and time again all he’d find would be a capsized raft, a tiny body drowned in the rainwater rapidly accumulating in an open basket or claimed by the elements before Crawly could respond because there were just so many dying. The survivors dwindled rapidly to nothing but Crawly didn’t know how to stop any more, even as failure after failure weighed on his heart and will.

Until finally, exhausted more from failure than fatigue, Crawly’s wings gave out and sent him plummeting into the seemingly endless waters. For long moments there was only the fall and memories of another Fall. It was only slamming into icy water instead of burning sulfur that yanked him free of the past. As the waters closed over his head it occurred to Crawly that he could and shortly would be discorporated, if he didn’t get himself out of there but his heart was too heavy for his wings. As he sank he started composing his report to the Head Office: _‘Was discorporated while thwarting God’s Will. Saved....’_ He couldn’t remember how many anymore, the last few days blurring into an endless loop… _‘Whom SHE condemned to death.’_ No need to mention how the oldest hadn’t seen thirteen years, it would just confuse the issue.

Then he was being dragged upwards. He blinked in confusion as he watched the waves recede beneath him. “Crawly, what in God’s name are you still doing here?” Aziraphale demanded.

“Nothing in _HER_ name,” he mumbled reflexively. 

Aziraphale huffed but didn’t drop him back into the waves.


	2. Aziraphale

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter includes fallout from internet searches due to writing fanfic sometimes turning up strange things: Nephilim and the idea that Flood was about blood purity, eliminating the mixing of human and angel genetics (as if angels and humans having babies isn’t pretty weird all on it’s own). 
> 
> **Chapter specific warning** for Aziraphale reacting to an off-screen rape including a slight leaning toward explaining it away.

“Not the kids?” Crawly asked, expression a mix of horror and revulsion.

A heartbroken nod was all Aziraphale could manage in confirmation. It hadn’t been a good last half millennium for the angel. He supposed it all started with that Nephilim business and he could only hope that the rumors he’d heard about how this was the culmination of that were in error.

Aziraphale didn’t personally see the appeal in getting to _know_ humans like that but, in general, he didn’t see anything wrong with it. He did worry a bit about the heartbreak inherent in an immortal/mortal relationship; Angels didn’t really mingle with post-life human souls, even the most virtuous pairs were doomed to lose one another.

And then, unfortunately, there were the angels who were just experimenting. Some of those ‘experiments’ had been fruitful. The irresponsibility of it offended Aziraphale, especially when it was simple enough to hold back a bit when _making an effort_. After all there was making your corporation a functional human body and making it a _functional_ human body. If you were just... Screwing around as it were, Aziraphale didn’t see the purpose in going all the way. It wasn’t easy having a child alone and Aziraphale just didn’t know how there could be members of the Host who could turn a blind eye to the fix they were leaving their partners in.

Then there was the _thing_ Aziraphale had stumbled on a decade back. Normally he was quite good about his demotion and never did anything to draw attention to the fact it was a demotion on paper rather than in fact but some things couldn’t be allowed to stand. He’d forcibly dragged the erring angel back to the Head Office to be dealt with then written up an extensive report on acceptable ways to ask for things from humans without being… overbearing. Aziraphale could only hope that it had been a mistake, a misunderstanding about how one went about _asking_ rather than _demanding_. He’d heard that the angel involved had Fallen and he felt no regret for his role in it.

But- But Aziraphale had heard other things. Disturbing things about all the angels involved with humans being censured, regardless of the nature of the involvement. He thought, he _hoped_ that he’d been sufficiently clear in his report, that he’d explained _exactly_ what the wrong-doing had been…

“You can’t kill kids!” Crawly protested.

Aziraphale wanted to be sick. He’d also heard whispers that it wasn’t just because Noah was a godly man that he and his family had been chosen to be spared. That it was not just because Noah was the one smart enough not to bring up the illogic of being instructed to build a boat hundreds of miles from the nearest body of water capable of floating it and instead just set to work. That it was, at least in part, because Noah, his sons and their wives were all purely human. All Aziraphale could do was hope that no one, that SHE hadn’t misconstrued his report. No, of course, SHE couldn’t misconstrue anything. But Aziraphale hoped, more than hoped, he had to believe that he wasn’t confused about which bit was the bad thing. He had to hope, to believe, that there was no causality, just a coincidence of timing: First there’d been the Nephilim thing and then the Flood, no relation between the two.

When Crawly left Aziraphale realized he longed to follow the demon’s example and be anywhere not here, at the same time he felt obligated to stay and bare witness to God’s judgement, especially after Crawly had dared to question the righteousness of that judgement. _‘It wasn’t because of the Nephilim children, it just couldn’t be.’_

Although the rainfall was heavy, the flooding wasn’t instantaneous. At first the thirsty plain merely drank in the water from the sky. Then puddles began to form. There had been an initial burst of panic when the rain began to fall the very moment Noah shut the doors of the Ark but this wasn’t the first rainfall, it wasn’t even the first flood, and people were quick to remind their neighbors and themselves of that fact. Still, under the denial fear was building.

It took two days after the rain started to fall for the most immediate locals to begin pounding on the hull of the Ark in earnest. The fear rose with the waters as the rain continued coming down. Aziraphale’s ears rang with suddenly remembered prayers Only now, when it was too late, did they remembered. They slaughtered sheep by the dozens but the rains quenched the altar fires before their sacrifices could be burnt; Offerings motivated by desperation rather than reverence weren’t desired or accepted.

After six days the saturated hill-side above the town gave way sending masses of mud sliding down into the valley below. In an instant hundreds of increasingly terrified prayers ceased and at first Aziraphale could only be relieved that their suffering was over. Then it hit him that it wasn’t over, the godly and ungodly had already been sorted and all of these humans had been found wanting, they would fall as surely as Lucifer and his lot had before them and Hell wouldn’t be kind to them. In his heart Aziraphale knew death wasn’t the end of their pain, it simply removed their pain from his view.

On the eighth day of rain, the water finally grew deep enough to lift the Ark from its berth and set it afloat. Once Aziraphale had seen that it was properly constructed and no last minute miracles would be needed to cover for a bad measurement or sloppy caulking job, the angel took to the air. Restlessly he flew back and forth over the newly forming sea, over forlorn tree-tops just poking above the water and later over mountains turned into rapidly shrinking islands. Everywhere he went Aziraphale saw humans clinging, determinedly, futilely to life and he was forbidden from saving them. _‘I can’t even spare them suffering,’_ Aziraphale thought mournfully. _‘Or maybe…’_

Aziraphale saw a child, perhaps a quarter angel, weakly shivering on a tiny, exposed outcropping. It was only a matter of hours until either the rock was submerged and the child drowned or she would die of the cold, soaked through as she was. He hovered overhead, too high up for the child to see him, the rain masking his tears. Then, impulsively, Aziraphale willed the child to sleep, a sleep so deep even the torments of Hell wouldn’t wake her from her dreams.

With grim determination and an itch between his wings, as if in anticipation of a lightning bolt, Aziraphale stretched out his senses, searching for other children on the verge of succumbing and when he found them he performed the same miracle on them. As with the business with the sword he didn’t _know_ that he was in the right, which seemed terribly un-angelic and not being smote down for what he was doing was the weakest sort of approval and it did nothing to ease his mind.

The rain kept falling, long after the last mountain peak had vanished beneath the waves. Aziraphale thought about returning to the Ark, there was nothing left he could do here. Then he saw a flash of black wings. “Whatever is Crawly…” Aziraphale began then cut himself off with a gasp as the demon plummets toward the waves.

It wasn’t really conscious thought that sent Aziraphale streaking after the falling demon, he was acting on pure instinct as he dove into the water and caught Crawly’s shoulder and dragged him back into the sky. The demon hung in Aziraphale’s grip: a limp, sodden mess of black feathers and blood red hair. “Crawly, what in God’s name are you still doing here?” Aziraphale demanded, needing to hear the demon’s voice more than he needed an answer.

“Nothing, in HER name,” Crawly rasped, the hint of venom in his voice buried under aching exhaustion. And in an instant Aziraphale knew exactly what Crawly had been doing.

_‘The demon Crawly relocated children condemned by the Flood to other lands, thus setting them to be raised outside of the culture deemed wicked. As always, evil contains the seeds of its own destruction, so I didn’t stop him from accidentally doing good,’_ Aziraphale composed in his head. It didn’t sound terribly convincing, he hoped no one would ask. Or maybe he could just… NOT ask Crawly what he’d done. _‘If I don’t_ know _, I can’t say.’_ The phrase ‘plausible deniability’ wouldn’t be invented any time soon but the concept had been around since Cain- Even if he hadn’t been particularly skilled in its execution. -Or maybe since a certain angel denied knowing what had happened to his flaming sword.

Aziraphale squeezed Crawly’s shoulders a bit to get his attention. “Could you perhaps be a little less conspicuous?” he suggested. After a moment of hesitation the shoulders under his hands melted away, becoming a great black snake only for it to shrink until it could coil comfortably around Aziraphale’s wrist like a bracelet. Aziraphale turned back toward the Ark.

As they grew nearer the angel shifted his form to that of a dove. There was a small niche he remembered under the eaves that was just large enough for the two of them in their current shapes. Twenty-eight more days until the rains stopped, a hundred fifty days until the waters receded the demon and angel remained curled up together in that tiny, forgotten pocket of space. Despite their forms they could have spoken to each other but neither Crawly nor Aziraphale chose to breach the silence between them.

After it was over and the Ark had settled to the newly exposed ground they went their separate ways. Crawly received a commendation for interfering with God’s plans. A little over four thousand years later he’d consider mentioning the part where some of the survivors’ stories about him evolved into the worship of a feathered serpent, Quetzalcoatl among other names, and claim he’d tempted humans into the worship of false gods but ultimately decided against it as the higher ups might have their own, less than pleasant, feelings about their subordinate being raised above them even if only in human mythology. Crawly’s superiors complimented him on his good -well- bad work and told him to keep at it.

Aziraphale was scolded for frivolous use of miracles _‘If they weren’t wicked they wouldn’t have been in a position to suffer. What were you_ thinking _Aziraphale?’_ But there was some remaining confusion about the Nephilim thing: Some angels had certainly Fallen over it but some hadn’t. Only no one could ask the Fallen ones what exactly they’d done and the ones who hadn’t weren’t exactly forward about being involved at all. Ineffable meant not a lot of questions got answered. After, most Angels opted to put some distance between themselves and the new Earth, just in case, only venturing down as required and not taking the chance to do some touristing any more. Heaven wasn’t pleased with Aziraphale and no one really wanted the Earth posting… His superiors told him not to expect a duty rotation any time soon.


	3. Discovering the Grape (And Drunken Conversations)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only loosely related to the other two parts. Shortly after the Flood recedes Aziraphale and Crowley discover wine.

_It happened not too long after the Flood waters receded that Noah planted a vineyard. And with the fruits of the vineyard he made wine, which he drank… to excess and proceeded to embarrass himself. Ham, the youngest son of Noah, upon observed his father’s ignominious state did draw his brothers’ attention to it. And so Noah did curse Ham condemning Ham’s sons to enslaved to the sons of his brothers, who had hidden their father’s shame and refused to look upon it._

And after the shouting died down a demon and an angel sat in Noah’s abandoned tent sharing a slightly befuddled look.

“So how do we report this one?” Crawly asked after several minutes of confused silence.

“I didn’t have anything to do with _that_!” Aziraphale protested. He gave Crawly a suspicious look, “Did you?”

“Nope,” Crawly drawled. “Still gotta write it up don’t I? Here we are, barely any time at all after the Earth, well this corner of it anyway, was wiped clean of the wicked and here’s HER chosen making a fool of himself and then throwing a tantrum just ‘cause Hammy didn’t pretend like he didn’t. Gotta send a ‘Hey, Down Below! Look ye and rejoice, sin’s not dead after all.’ And why not take a little credit? It’s not like any of the rest of them were here to say otherwise.”

“It seems just yesterday they were being punished _for_ being ashamed of their nakedness, now they’re punishing each other for catching them _not_ being ashamed,” Aziraphale sighed. “I can’t quite make sense of it all.”

“Does Noah actually get to go around make pronouncements like that?” Crawly wondered. “I mean does he really just get to say Ham’s descendents should end up enslaved over this and so it happens?”

“Who’s to say that one causes the other,” Aziraphale modified. “But yes, that was a True Pronouncement.”

“It’s not like Ham made him drink the stuff or told him to lose the clothes,” Crawly continued as he picked up a half empty wine skin and sloshed it back and forth thoughtfully. “Powerful stuff, this. Got potentially a third of the human race on two plus continents cursed to be lesser just for seeing someone drink too much of it. You can bet there’s gonna be a lot of nastiness come of that.” He popped open the skin and took a swig.

“CRAWLY WHAT ARE YOU DOING?” Aziraphale gasped.

“Gotta make a proper report on it don’t I?” Crawly said after swishing a second mouthful around to expose all his taste buds.

“What’s it like?” Aziraphale asked then put a hand to his mouth as if to shove the words back in.

Crawly shrugged, “Tastes okay, I guess. Burns a little going down. Don’t see what the big deal is really.”

“You wouldn’t lie would you?” Aziraphale asked suspiciously.

“‘Course I would. I’m a demon!”

Aziraphale held out his hand for the skin. “I suppose I must try it myself then,” he said. “For my report. Mustn’t rely on questionable, second hand sources after all.”

“At least make me work for it Angel,” Crawly sighed as he handed over the skin. “You’re so easy, it’s making me feel guilty.”

Aziraphale smiled. “I’m a good influence on you then?”

“Hardly.”

Aziraphale took his first drink. “You’re right, it doesn’t seem like so much. Although, Noah did have rather more than a single mouthful,” he nodded to several empty skins littering the tent floor. Then he took a second, larger drink.

“Sharing’s a virtue Angel, aren’t your lot supposed to be all about virtue?” Crawly suggested holding out his hand. Aziraphale passed the skin back then went to inspect the other discarded skins, just in case they weren’t completely empty.

Completely inexperienced with the effect of alcohol neither angel nor demon really noticed their slide into tipsiness as the night wore on and the wineskins emptied.

Aziraphale blinked muzzily at Crawly, “You know, you don’t seem so terribly evil.” Then he giggled conspiratorially, “Actually that bit with the children, which I know absolutely nothing about, mind you, was quite lovely.”

“You take that back!” Crawly exclaimed.

“I simply can’t grasp it: Why did you Fall?” the angel asked with innocent, drunken, curiosity.

Crawly went absolutely still, the sort of stillness that accompanies broken ribs and other injuries where you just know any movement at all is going to hurt.

Aziraphale missed it completely as he stared at Crawly expectantly.

“You expect an answer to that question when I’ve never gotten one?” Crawly asked bitterly.

Aziraphale gaped at the demon in shock, “You don’t know?”

Crawly shrugged, forcing himself into deliberately carelessness. “Figure it was either hanging out with the wrong crowd or asking too many questions… Not that I ever got answers, mind you. Not even to that one.”

As the implications of what Crawly was saying sank in Aziraphale felt like someone was squeezing his throat, tears welled up in his eyes. “How could SHE punish you like that and not even _tell_ you what it was for?”

Crawly’s eyes dilated with shock as he stared at Aziraphale. “It’s- er- I’m nothing special,” he mumbled. “ ‘S not like SHE told them,” his gesture took in the whole pre-Flood world, “what they did wrong, didn't even tell you why you weren't to save them.” He reached out and caught one of Aziraphale’s tears on his finger. It strung his skin but the hurt felt better than any pleasure Crawly could remember. “Ineffable, remember? Not big on answers, by definition.”

And Aziraphale burst into sobs. Crawly patted his shoulder awkwardly.

In the morning they would both swear to never drink again. Aziraphale would continue swearing ‘never again’ every time it happened for a couple thousand years before working out the instant sobriety trick- Because there were some conversations you should be sober for. Crawly knew he was lying the moment he said it but he would always be careful about who he drank _with_. He could count the number of beings in the cosmos who he felt safe being unguarded with on one finger.


End file.
